


Mortal Duality

by Argyle



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-09
Updated: 2004-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortal Duality

Stepping down from the hansom cab and onto the curb, Utterson huddled his shoulders within the woolen folds of his cloak and strained his eyes against the darkness of the street. Cool tendrils of mist clung to the heights of lampposts, light flickering and diffusing into the breadth of the night. There was an unease borne upon the wind that seemed to tug on the hem of his jacket and the curve of his cheek. He imagined a host of clawed phantoms moving through the fog, visible within the edge of his gaze and vanishing as one moment passed into another and the scene shifted.  
  
A shiver circuiting down his spine, Utterson shook his head, raising his sight to the haze of the building that loomed before him. Although the curtains were draped across the second floor windows, he saw a silhouetted form against the yellow glow of a backing lamp. He watched as it steadily paced from one side of the room to the other, frowning as he at once knew it to be Henry Jekyll.  
  
Utterson raised his hand to the door and knocked firmly, his knuckles white before the black panel of the wood. He waited, tilting his head, and listened against the sound of his own breath for an indication of movement from within. A moment passed and he stepped back; as he looked once more to the room above, he saw that the figure was still, hands held at the waist in what was perhaps some resolution. The edge of the curtain parted for an instant, revealing the doctor’s ashen profile, and swung tightly closed again.  
  
Lifting a hand to knock once more, Utterson started as the door swung suddenly open and a narrow shaft of light diffused into the cuff of the night. An elderly face peered out, eyes catching the gloom of the street as they darted between Utterson and the encroaching fog. After a moment, the servant stepped back, a smile of relief and recognition passing across his mouth.  
  
“Good evening, Poole,” Utterson said, stepping into the entryway. He felt the flush of the fire against his cheeks and he rubbed his hands together brusquely, measuring his words. “Is Dr. Jekyll at home this evening?”  
  
“Yes, sir...” the servant hesitated, his gaze moving toward the staircase, “though he is not having visitors.”  
  
“Is he unwell?”  
  
Poole swallowed, closing his eyes, at last nodding and glancing to Utterson. “He is...” he trailed off as a loud creaking of floorboards sounded from above. Utterson raised his gaze, following the firm sound of the pacing.  
  
“I must speak with him,” he said at last.  
  
“Oh, sir -- the doctor has been quite adamant these last days... he does not wish for any disturbances.”  
  
His brow furrowing, Utterson opened his mouth to reply, though he paused and tilted his head toward the ceiling once more. There seemed to be a desperation springing forth from the groaning boards, constant and heavy against the hushed laughter of the fireplace. With a fleeting turn of reluctance, he moved toward the staircase.  
  
“Sir, please --”  
  
“Do not worry, Poole,” Utterson asserted with a backward glance as he clutched the cool mahogany of the rail and began to climb the stairs. “I’ll not trouble your master for more than a moment.”  
  
As Utterson reached the landing and walked to the door of Jekyll’s chamber, he raised a hand and knocked solidly. The creaking of the boards within stopped, though Jekyll gave no response.  
  
“Jekyll, please.” Utterson’s voice was calm and measured, masking the furious beating of his heart. “We must speak.”  
  
“For pity’s sake, Utterson,” Jekyll cried, his breath haggard. “You mustn’t persist at my door.”  
  
Utterson swallowed, shifting his weight toward the doorframe. “Henry?” he whispered into the darkness.  
  
“Go home, Utterson.”  
  
“Henry, please. Open up.”  
  
There was long pause that was at last followed by the creaking of boards and the hard clank of a lock. Slowly, so slowly, the door opened. A thin light escaped from the room, washing over Utterson’s form, and Jekyll moved forward, his hand still firmly clasped upon the brass bow of the latch.  
  
Utterson inhaled sharply as he saw his friend’s sallow cheeks and the frailty of his frame. “My God, Henry,” he said, shaking his head. “What has become of you?” He reached forward slowly, though Jekyll stepped away from his touch with a bitter, broken smile grazing his lips.  
  
“I’m sorry.” The doctor shifted his hand upon the bolt, bowing his head and swallowing shakily. Suddenly, a shudder passed through him and he clenched his jaw, setting his palms roughly against his temples. He leaned against the doorframe, his breath heavy, and at last he set his gaze to Utterson. A strained, pale glint escaped from the darkness of his eyes. “It is too late.”  
  
“Henry, I can help you,” Utterson pleaded, stepping forward once more. “Allow me to help you.”  
  
“No.” Jekyll shook his head, straightening his hand against the wooden molding. “You’ve always been there for me in the past -- you’ve been quite dedicated to me. I thank you, truly I do, but I must now be left to my own devices.”  
  
“Your own devices? You must be joking.” Utterson paused as he saw the scowl that crossed Jekyll’s wan features. “Barricading yourself within this room is no solution.”  
  
Jekyll shook his head, dark curls falling damply before his eyes. “Good evening to you, Utterson,” he said as he slowly began to close the door, steadying his shoulders. “It has been delightful to see you.”  
  
“Henry!” Utterson reached forward, roughly bracing the door with his open palm. “Lanyon is dying,” he said at length as he held Jekyll’s shadowed gaze.  
  
“Lanyon...” Jekyll muttered, dashing a hand across his brow. He frowned, his eyes at once imploring and apprehensive, and it seemed to Utterson that a great battle was somehow being waged behind the dusky curve of his lashes. At last Jekyll began again, “No, no... it cannot be--,” though his words were cut short as his form shook with a violent tremor and he once more leaned against the doorframe, his legs bending beneath him; he closed his eyes, a low moan passing over his drawn lips, and stumbled forward into Utterson’s arms.  
  
“My God,” Utterson sighed as he adjusted his footing and set his hand to Jekyll’s back, gently pushing the door open. Stepping over the floor’s blanketing disarray of blotted manuscripts and the shattered glass of medical phials, Utterson carefully guided Jekyll against the dark leather of a wingchair. He kneeled beside him, setting his hand lightly across Jekyll’s shoulder. “Will you not tell me what has happened?”  
  
Shielding his eyes with his palm, Jekyll shook his head. “Nothing can be done,” he said at length, “I realize that now.”  
  
“Come, Henry, you oughtn’t to allow yourself succumb to this... this despair. Walk with me tomorrow...” As Utterson inhaled, he at once noticed the lingering scent of chemicals as it fell sharply against his tongue.  
  
Jekyll raised his gaze to Utterson, his dark eyes rimmed with tears, glinting against the dying embers of the fire. “Don’t you see?” He glanced toward the sharp folds of paper that lay by his feet and a shadow seemed to pass across his face as he tightly gripped the arms of his seat, his knuckles white. “Of course you cannot -- I only ask that you believe me. Believe that I am sorry.” He sighed shakily. “You must leave me now.”  
  
Utterson slowly raised a hand, setting a stray curl behind Jekyll’s ear, and brushed the tips of his fingers beneath Jekyll’s eyes. The room was silent, save for the distant ticking of the hall clock and the hoarse whisper of the breeze against the windowpane. At last Utterson stood, turning away from Jekyll and setting his hand to the doorknob.  
  
“Gabriel.” Jekyll’s voice was quiet, restrained, though as Utterson turned, he saw that Jekyll’s features were somehow stretched and shaded by pain. “It is well.”  
  
Nodding almost imperceptibly, Utterson closed the door solidly behind him and made his way toward the dim slope of the stairwell. As he reached the bottom, he saw Poole still lingering by the door, his brow raised in surprise. Turing toward the servant for a moment, Utterson opened his mouth to speak, though he shook his head and continued on as he thought better of it.  
  
As the night’s chill air held his form once more, Utterson drew against the fleeting warmth of his cloak. He glanced for a moment toward Jekyll’s window, though the curtains did not shift with shadow or touch in some measure of parting. The light from within simply wavered through the reach of the fog, at once tugging upon the hem of Utterson’s jacket and the curve of his cheek. A sense of unease hanging within the depths of his chest, he walked into the darkness of the street and buried his fisted hands deep within his pockets to mask them as they shook.


End file.
